


eat me, i'm delicious

by stupidsexyseguin



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Sex, Felching, Food Kink, Food Porn, M/M, Masturbation, Rimming, Snowballing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 08:59:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11825397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stupidsexyseguin/pseuds/stupidsexyseguin
Summary: Zhenya has an addiction.  a delicious addiction.archived from tumblr





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this work begun as a series of submits from myself to nomorelonelydays tumblr and became known as "the food porn anon AU"  
> this is the archived posting of all of it- it's a little disjointed and potentially not finished, but stands as it is. un-betaed or edited. please enjoy!

Look. Zhenya is no prude. He likes sex- no, he loves sex. Loves going down one someone, getting his face right in between their thighs to get them off. Loves being on the receiving end. Loves fucking someone so hard that they forget everything but the words ‘yes’ and ‘more’. Loves being sweaty and come dumb and shivery all over his skin after a good orgasm. Loves seeing his partners covered in his spunk, rubbing it into their skin until it’s sticky-tacky and they’re begging him for another orgasm. Zhenya fucking loves sex. He just-.

He isn’t really ‘kinky’.

Not the way some of the other guys are, the way they talk about their escapades and exploits when they’re on roadies and trying to one up each other. The way Sasha tries to talk about his own ‘immeasurable experience’ with Nicky, everytime they try something new, before Zhenya either hangs up on him or wrestles him into shutting up. Zhenya just appreciates the simplicity of straightforward sex- pure simple vaginal, anal and oral. No roleplay, or costumes, or positions that seem highly improbable that someone as long limbed as he is could contort into. No implements of pain, or measures of control, or long term denial of pleasure.

The kinkiest thing Zhenya has really done (well, excluding the threesome after his first cup win in ‘09. But, you know, a threesome is a threesome) is bring toys into the bedroom with one of his former girlfriends because she wanted to see what it was like to have both holes filled at the same time, without actually bringing another man into their bed. Wanted to see what it was like to fuck his hole open with a strap on. He honestly would have been fine with their sex life without them, but it had made her happy to be ‘adventurous’ so he’d happily agreed.

Which is why Lazy found it so funny to send him kink porn.

Because Zhenya just didn’t get it.

Even after being traded, Neal still occasionally sent him emails consisting of nothing but an innocent looking link, and would wait for the confused and concerned replies.

Zhenya didn’t mind that other people found these things a turn on, but he just never found himself getting anything like hard thinking about dominatrixes, or being tied up like a piece of art, or having an alien looking dildo lay its eggs inside of him (if anything, that last one really got him concerned about how Lazy had found all of these things. Which-. He really didn’t want to think about what Lazy would be doing with an egg laying dildo.). So most of his responses tended to be a series of Russian frowny faces or pics of Zhenya’s confused and/or concerned face, caught by one of the other Penguins as he hesitantly opened the link on a roadie or after a team practice.

Until him.

Zhenya had just gotten back from a week long roadie, slumping into the house and trying to decide whether he had enough energy to make food before he passed out on his couch for a couple of hours, when his phone had pinged with a notification. Without checking what it was, he unlocked his phone to be met by another email with link from user ‘neal_bitches’ and he clicks through without thinking, to be met by a video of a guy-

Sitting at a table. Like, fully clothed at a table. The camera cuts off the the man’s eyes and most of his nose, but still leaves visible a strongly defined jaw, and a set of sharp cheekbones leading into a pair of puffy, red, spit slicked lips- tongue darting out over the bottom one, followed by a set of pearly teeth that scrape over already abused skin before slowly letting go in a sensual manner. The guy is clearly well built- with well defined shoulders and chest stretching out a plain navy t-shirt, strong tanned forearms resting on the flat wooden surface in front of him, talented looking fingers stroking a lazy pattern in the grain of the table.

Zhenya cocked his head in confusion.

This…. Wasn’t porn?

Had Lazy sent him the wrong link? And if so, what the hell else was Lazy watching? The guy in the video brought a hand up to his face and ran his fingers across his lips, looking as if he was waiting for something. Without really realising what he was doing, Zhenya slid onto one of the bar stools at his kitchen bench and debated what exactly the guy was doing that warranted a video.

As if receiving an invisible cue, video guy straightened in his seat and reached off screen, slowly dragging into frame a single large slice of New York Baked Cheesecake, sitting prettily on a plain white plate, scattered with dark, juicy, blushing berries- a delicate looking silver desert spoon resting beside it. The man reaches out with an index finger, dipping it into the creamy point of the cake and lifting it slowly to his plush lips.

He smears it across his lower lip before plunging his finger into his mouth, a low and guttural moan drawing out of the speakers of Zhenya’s phone. The finger draws out, teasing slow, followed by a talented tongue swirling around the tip to get at every trace of the desert. He picks up the delicate silver spoon and begins to slowly and methodically eat the entire slice of cheesecake without saying a word, just letting out the occasional throaty moan or reedy whimper loose.

Zhenya watches, enthralled by the sight of that tongue lathing kitten licks along the desert spoon, until the entire piece is gone and the man draws the empty spoon across his bottom lip one last time. He gives the camera a lopsided, lazy smile, before the video cuts to black and is replaced by a website in plain white font.

watch-patrick-eat.com

He blinks and sets the phone down. He’s so fucking hard in his slacks that the zipper feels like it might burst. And looking at the time on his phone, he’d been watching the man (patrick?) eat for almost fifteen minutes. What the actual fuck. Zhenya finds himself mindlessly reaching for his belt, shucking his pants down his hips as quickly as possible and grasping his cock with a desperate hand. It doesn’t take much before he’s coming hard across his kitchen counter with an almost breathless shout, thinking about the way patrick’s tongue had so talentedly twisted around his spoon to get every last crumb of that fucking cheesecake.

Slumped against cool marble, cock hanging lewdly out of his pants, and panting harder than he should be considering the lack of exertion, Zhenya stares at his phone in a mix of anticipation and horror.

Nealer was never going to let this go.

But, god, he just really wants to see what else the handsome man from the video has uploaded on his website.


	2. Chapter 2

Zhenya has never been so fucking drunk in his life. 

And he’s fucking  _Russian_.

And friends with fucking  _Sasha_.

The season is officially over. The post season is done and dusted. And Zhenya is the Two-Time Stanley Cup Winning  _Captain_  of the Mother Fucking Pittsburgh Penguins. He feels fucking  _great_.

Which is why he wakes up at 3pm the day after beating the Sharks 3-1 in game six passed out on the floor of Horny’s hotel room and curled around the Stanley Cup- which is resting on it’s own pillow and tucked under a blanket, while Zhenya is sprawled on the floor draped under a towel. He can hear Horny snoring in a low roar from the bed, and can see Hags sprawled across the tiny couch in the room. Zhenya stumbles to his feet and across to the bathroom to piss, and finds Dumo passed out in the tub next to a collection of empty gatorade bottles.

He honestly has no idea how he got here. He has no real memories of last night after Flower had decided it was time for tequila shots and demanded that Zhenya, as Captain, had the duty of taking a shot for every goal and assist of the series. It’s not as if it’s unexpected; he just won a second Stanley Cup as Captain- and the Penguins party was nowhere  _near_  as over the top as the Bruins one in 2011.

Zhenya splashes his face with tap water (and flicks some at Dumo, who just flinches, groans, and curls in on himself in the tub) and stumbles from the bathroom in search of the bar fridge and hopefully something to get rid of the taste of death lingering on his tongue. He’s finishing off his second blue gatorade, debating whether to order room service or try and get the guys up and downstairs to where the team will have food set up for them, when his phone pings with a notification.

He chokes when he unlocks it.

 

**From: watch-patrick-eat**

**Payment accepted! $2000 USD has been charged using your listed credit card information.**

**Thank you for your request, a video will be sent in the next 48 hours.**

**1 personal video- private with specialty request by member**

**Special request notes;**

_“pay $2000 for if wear evgeni malkin penguins jersey eat cheesecake with fingers.”_

**Contact info@watch-patrick-eat.com with any further queries**

 

Fuck. fuck. What the fuck did he do? Got drunk and made a request? A really fucking specific request. When did he do it? Did anyone else see? Did he tell anyone else? Zhenya can get pretty chatty when he’s drunk, but usually ends up mumbling in Russian, so he hopes he didn’t say anything too bad to any of his teammates. Or coaches. Or their wives and partners.

“G, what the fuck man?” Dumo is standing in the doorway looking worse than Zhenya feels. “Why was I in the bath?”

Zhenya wills himself to calm down and heaves a shrug at the D Man. He tosses his empty bottle at where Hags is still splayed out, making him splutter and jump and fall off the couch with a stream of what Zhenya assumes is Swedish swears.

“Want food. Move lazy asses.”

“Fuck you too G.” comes the muffled reply from the floor. Zhenya laughs and grabs his wallet with his room key.

“I’m have shower. Then we have food. Refuse to get on plane with no food.” he glares at his teammates (and the still snoring Horny) before heading out for his own room. He forces himself to push the drunk food porn request from his mind. Nothing he could really do about it now except wait for the video ( _the video!_ ) to show up in his inbox. He could do this. He could make it through the next 48 hours without letting his teammates know how flustered he was that he had no idea what had happened in the wake of their win.

 

* * *

 

The video arrives the same way every other one has; with a brief message in his emails and an unassuming link to a private page on Patrick’s website. It just unfortunately arrives in the middle of the Pen’s victory parade through Pittsburgh, which means Zhenya has to spend to next four hours ignoring his phone, burning a hole in his pocket, until he can make an excuse to leave. He’s hyper aware of how hard he has to keep focussed on the team and the fans, so that his mind doesn’t wander too far, so that he doesn’t get hard just thinking about what Patrick looks like in his jersey.

No amount of imagination prepares him for the truth.

Patrick has titled the video ‘ _to the victor, the spoils_ ’, and Zhenya huffs at how close to the truth of this situation it is. As it begins to play though, he freezes. Patrick isn’t at his table. Instead he’s sitting splayed on the floor, legs bent at the knees and bare up until his thighs, where a pair of tight dark boxer briefs start. They’re mostly covered though, by Zhenya’s jersey.

His 2009 Jersey.

All soft and worn and clinging to Patrick in a way that makes Zhenya’s throat feel like it’s dried up. He can just make out a dark smudge on the shoulder that looks like his signature, on the opposite side to where his captain’s C sits above Patrick’s heart, and just above the Stanley Cup Finals logo.

Between Patrick’s thighs (fuzzy dark, with soft looking hair that Zhenya wishes he could stroke) an entire fucking cheesecake sits primly on a decorative plate. His hands slide from where they are resting on his knees, skim his soft, strong thighs, and caress the patch of skin where it meets boxer briefs. Patrick’s left hand continues on- catching on the hem of the jersey and revealing a sliver of skin of his abdomen- up to stroke at the black and yellow C with something like reverence.

His right hand reaches out and drags three fingers through the pristine top of the cake, collecting a good amount of the creamy white fluff, before slowly lifting them to his wide open lips and sucking them in deep without hesitation. Patrick drags them back out and down his chin and throat to touch the neck of the jersey and Zhenya is enthralled by the flush he can see beginning to spread across Patrick’s lower cheeks and neck. He wonders if it continues down below the neck of the jersey; if Patrick flushes all over when he’s turned on, if Zhenya would be able to trace it down, down, down to the waistband of those tight briefs.

Patrick moans deep and unrestrained and reaches out for the cake again, digging his fingers in with none of his usual precision, grasping a messy handful of cheesecake and holding it in front of him so that he can use his tongue in filthy flat strokes to get as much of it as he can. It’s sloppy and messy and Zhenya can see flecks of it falling down onto the Jersey, and smudging into his chin and cheeks. Patrick doesn’t bother to wipe himself off as he goes in for a second handful, leaving his face a sticky mess of dessert.

Zhenya doesn’t know where to look- his eyes can’t decide if he should focus on the other man’s lips, his cake covered fingers, or his other hand, which is alternating between stroking the C on the Jersey and dancing teasingly across his bare thigh. Zhenya sets his laptop down on the bed next to him ad shucks his own boxers, slicking his hand with the lube he keeps on his nightstand. His grip is slick and slightly chilly, and he keeps it loose to begin- Patrick has a lot of cake in front of him, and Zhenya doesn’t want to waste one second of it by coming too early to enjoy it all.

As Patrick teases the pads of his fingers, Zhenya runs his thumb across his slit and has to bite his lip to stop himself whimpering. Such a fucking talented tongue. He wonders what it would feel like lapping at his fingers, fucking into his mouth, wrapped around his cock.

The plate is a fucking mess. Bits of filling and base crumbling off the sides to the floor. The cake itself is almost half gone- well it looks it, it’s hard to tell with the way Patrick has been scooping it up without a care- and Patrick’s moans are merging on almost desperate as he gorges himself in a way that Zhenya has never seen him do in any other video. His face is even more deliciously flushed now and he looks like he’s starting to have trouble swallowing down his treat with every bite.

His cheeks are bulging slightly, and Zhenya wonders if this is what he would look like with a cock in his pretty pretty mouth. His strokes increase in speed, and his twists his wrist with slick pressure on every upstroke and thinks about if Patrick would look like he couldn’t get enough of him- if he would keep taking Zhenya in- even when his mouth was stuffed full and he was gagging on his length.

Patrick’s fingers press into his stomach on the screen, as if he can feel pressure from how full he is. Stuffed and about to burst. He lets out tiny, needy, whimpers at the pressure, but doesn’t stop stroking at his belly with firm strokes. Zhenya’s mouth falls open, panting out hot short breaths, as Patrick continues to take another scoop of cheesecake and bring it up to his lips, and he sees a wetness creeping down the man’s cheeks.

Fuck.

Patrick is so full, he’s crying, but he’s not stopping himself from trying to take more.

_Fuck_.

Zhenya wishes he could see his eyes. Could look into them as he helps Patrick through it, could watch his face fully as he whimpered and moaned shakily from  _too-much-too-much-too-much_ , and follow the path of his tears with his own finger tips.

Zhenya stiffens and comes as Patrick sobs and slumps back against the wall, fingers still caked in sticky white fluff that he just can’t take any more of. He’s sobbing and shaking and Zhenya would feel bad, but he can see the outline of Patrick’s cock straining at his briefs as he takes gasping pants, head thrown back and stretching out his thick throat in a beautiful tableaux. He’s clutching at Zhenya’s jersey as if it’s the only thing grounding him in the moment and stopping him from properly coming apart.

Patrick makes another few feeble attempts at taking more into his mouth, before he gives up and lets the sticky hand fall to his bare thigh in defeat. The camera lingers on his still form for a few long, empty, seconds before he unclenches stiff, shaky fingers from the jersey and weakly lifts them to his messy lips to blow Zhenya a sloppy goodbye kiss.

It cuts to the end screen, but instead of the usual website plate, it says  ** _Go Pens!_  **Which causes Zhenya to burst into unrestrained snorts of laughter.

Drunk Zhenya gave him the best sober gift ever.

  
He wonders if he could send Patrick a new signed jersey. Maybe one he’d actually worn during the season. See him in something that had once actually been on Zhenya. Fuck that would be so fucking hot.


	3. Chapter 3

The thing is, Zhenya  _loves_  hockey.

He can’t remember a time when being on the ice, chasing pucks around didn’t make him happy. From the time he realised that ‘professional hockey player’ was a job he could have, he knew this was what he was going to do with his life.

What he doesn’t love is the sports science side of it. He gets that it’s important to keep an eye on what he eats- making sure he has enough energy, enough weight, to get through the season without becoming a shell of bone and muscle- but he just really fucking misses being able to just eat a burger or three without worrying if it would fuck with his food plan. He misses not being watched by a hawk by nutritionists every time the team is at an event not catered specifically for hungry NHL players (empty calories, empty calories everywhere).

He supposed that was why watching Patrick enjoy himself so shamelessly indulge in contrabanded foods got Zhenya so  _hot_  and  _hard_  and  _horny_. Almost six months of weekly personal videos, and he still couldn’t get enough of watching the beautiful man. He hadn’t invested in another video as… expensive and shameless as his cup winning one (which he watched almost every day the summer after. If he wasn’t so wary of his phone being hacked, he’d keep it saved there so he could use the image of Patrick’s well built body covered in  _His_ number as a pick me up on the road).

Instead he’d expanded his collection to include Patrick feeding himself oysters (throwing back his head, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed), cherries (lips wrapping around the fruit, pulling it firmly from the stem, juices staining his lips as he bit through soft flesh), and- most shamelessly- one of Patrick eating a lollipop (sucking, slurping, and long slow shots of a clever tongue wrapping around the candy). Patrick clearly enjoyed food, and Zhenya loved to watch him enjoy it.

Not like the Penguins Nutrition Team. Sadistic assholes probably thought a treat was something including the words  _organic_  and  _flourless_  and  _sugarfree_. They must get off on making Zhenya miserable.

The rest of the team got attention too, but the nutritionists really had it out for Zhenya; as if as soon as they took their eyes off him, he’d destroy their precious food plan and gorge himself on contraband goods (he would. Just to see their faces when he admitted that yes, he was the one who ate the rest of the cake/pie/pelmeni/muffins/mini pizza). It had culminated in management deciding that at events during the season, Zhenya was to have a chaperone always, to ensure he couldn’t spite eat.

The worst of them was Crosby. He’d been with the team for a couple of years- started interning with them as part of his degree a few years after Zhenya had fled from the KHL- and had eventually been named their head nutritionist after their last one had been offered a better job somewhere out west. He’d completely overhauled their Diet and Nutrition strategies in the years since, and just thinking about it made Zhenya want to drive to the nearest bakery and stuff himself with the most sugary-buttery-salty things he could buy.

Crosby seemed like a nice enough guy, if a bit solemn and serious about his job, but his campaign against all things tasty and enjoyable both during and outside of the season frustrated Zhenya to no end.

Sidney Crosby was the enemy and Zhenya lived to make him red in the face from frustration when he realised that Zhenya was cheating on his food plan again.

 

* * *

 

Crosby had cornered him in the hallway after the morning’s ice time. His arms were crossed over his chest and it just highlighted how badly fitted his suit was- baggy around his arms and shoulders and much too long. Zhenya wondered if Crosby had ever learned to dress himself properly, or if he just grabbed the first thing that fit off the rack. Even when he showed up in workout clothes, they looked three sizes too big.

“Malkin. I know you think this is a joke but-”

“No, not joke!” Zhenya is quick to interrupt Crosby before he can get the full lecture. He’s sat through way too many of them this season already. “I’m know; not allowed to eat at party tonight. There to talk to sponsors only. Have dinner before go.” Crosby raises an eyebrow and his lips thin into a severely disbelieving frown.

“You can eat, but nothing fried and none of the deserts.” a compromise they’ve been trying to sell Zhenya on all season. “And Cam stays with you all night.”

Zhenya’s head falls back with a moan that he’s been told makes him sound like a sad cow (fuck you too Tanger). Cam is the worst of Crosby’s disciples- a sports science intern who is too eager to please his boss now that the awe of working with NHL players has faded.

“Would rather do ten hours press. He worst. Not let me drink. ever.” Crosby snorts.

“You shouldn’t  _be_  drinking during the season,” Crosby lectures. “I can’t really stop you, but it is better for your performance to limit alcohol intake.”

“No drinking, no eating, no fun. How you have fun?” He whines. Crosby expression twists into something Zhenya doesn’t know how to interpret- if he didn’t know any better, he’d think Crosby was embarrassed.

“I have fun!” His eyes are wide, face indignant. A little part of Zhenya notices how attractive Crosby would be-  _if_  he could actually dress himself.

“Pffff. Everyone know you not know proper fun, Crosby.” Zhenya teases “Think Kale is fun. Get excited at farmers market.”

The flush that fills Crosby’s cheeks warms something inside of him. It’s different to the angry, blotchy red Zhenya is used to seeing, and paired with the way Crosby is actually talking  _to_  him- instead of telling him off and stomping back to his office- Zhenya finds himself caught off guard at the wave of attraction he feels for his nutritionist.

“It was new! There hadn’t been one in my area since I moved! And they have a stall that does really great homemade cheesecakes, okay?” Zhenya lets out a startled laugh.

“Since when you eat dessert? Here I’m thinking you only eat fancy protein salad and steam chicken!”

“Just because I care about my body, doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy food. It’s called moderation.” Crosby gives him a pointed look, eyes flicking down Zhenya’s body “Which is something you could really use.”

“Why use when is so fun to make you mad? Have you come tell me am in trouble.” he teases, and the flush deepens on Crosby’s cheeks. Zhenya realises that he may or may not be flirting with the enemy.

“Well maybe I’ll just have to supervise you myself” Crosby replies, not quite meeting Zhenya’s eyes. Oh.

_Oh._

Crosby was-.

Flirting back.

“Yes?” he nonchalantly raises an eyebrow, mouth sliding into a lazy smile “You going to watch me eat, always?” which, he’s never actually thought of himself on that side of the scenario. He wonders if it would get him as hot and bothered as he does watching Patrick’s videos.

For some reason, Crosby looks mortified. Maybe he just isn’t as into watching people eat as Zhenya is- a thought that makes Zhenya kind of sad. Or maybe he just isn’t used to being flirted with? Crosby has always come across as quiet and serious in the past- Zhenya doesn’t think he has actually seen him laugh in the time they’ve worked together- and he doesn’t seem confident in himself. Always hiding behind his desk, his clothes, his employees. Maybe if Zhenya wants to take this further, he needs to be a bit less…. aggressive?

“So, will see you tonight?  _Sid_?”

Crosby gives him a wide eyed stare, looking almost unsure at the way this conversation had turned. Zhenya couldn’t blame him- he had come to tell off one of his more reluctant players and ended up being flirted with about food.

“Uh, yeah, okay. Tonight” Crosby was definitely flustered as Zhenya watched him turn on the spot and rush from the room. A slow smirk spread across his lips. Maybe if he seduced the nutritionist, he could get away with convincing Crosby to let him have more cheat days.

Show Crosby how good food could be.

Maybe even get to show him how good  _Patrick_  could make food look.


	4. Chapter 4

The problem, Zhenya thinks, is that Sidney Crosby is actually really fucking great.

It’s been two months since he accidentally flirted with Sid, accidentally asked him to be his date to the team sponsor function, and everything just went downhill from there. Behind the serious and solemn facade, Sid was actually a sarcastic little shit, who enjoyed chirping Zhenya when he least expected it and making him look like an idiot in front of anyone else in the room. He was  _wonderful_.

Now that Zhenya was actually invested in getting to know the Nutritionist, he was getting to know the nutritionist. Sid had played hockey-  _really good hockey_ \- all the way up until Major Juniors. He’d actually been a leading draft contender for the season  _after_  Zhenya had been drafted, but had pulled out after a major accident on the ice had left him with a severely fractured skull and concussion symptoms screwing him up for over a year following.

Instead of putting himself in the next year’s draft- like many teams (including _ **Pittsburgh**_ “they really wanted me here, when the team was rebuilding,” Sid admits sheepishly “In another life we could have been teammates.”) had been hoping- Sid had chosen to head to college and follow the Sports Science route; If he couldn’t play Hockey, he was still determined to have it in his life. Apparently his mom and sister were happy he’d decided not to get back out on the ice professionally, but Sid’s relationship with his dad is now stilted and awkward, with Troy glad his son is alive and safe, but still almost mourning the career Sid could have had.

Sid admits, blushing deeply and avoiding his eyes, that he’s actually a big fan of Zhenya’s; followed his career from when they had  _actually_ _played_ _each other_  at world juniors. How the hell did Zhenya not remember this beautiful, solemn, earnest man?

“Watching you helped. After the concussion. It was a while before i could look at screens again, and I avoided watching NHL at first. It hurt to watch some of the guys I’d played with actually living the life I always thought I’d have. The KHL was removed enough, different enough a game, that I could enjoy it.” He’s sheepish as he tells Zhenya this, and Zhenya has to hold himself back from crowing about this admission, because Sid is being open and honest right now. It  _really_  isn’t the time to hold this above Sidney.

Zhenya had rushed home after the event to spend several hours online, looking up every piece of footage and article written about ‘Sidney Crosby NHL Prospect’, and is amazed that he never connected this boy who played beautiful hockey with the sports nutritionist who was much too serious about his job. A part of him mourned for Sid’s lost career- he had been  _really. fucking. good._ \- and watching old footage of the 2005 World Juniors just reinforced that. They had only played one game against each other, the gold medal game, and Zhenya wonders how he had never wondered what had happened to Sidney Crosby and his beautiful hockey before.

What would playing on a team with Sid have been like? The Penguins had had first pick that year- would they have chosen Sid? Would Zhenya have played on his line? Would they have been  _friends_?

Zhenya has to shake himself to clear his head. That was all in the past- his Sidney Crosby had never played in the league. Would  _never_  play NHL hockey. His Sid didn’t play Beautiful Hockey anymore; instead he helped all of the Penguins play Good Hockey. Gave them a solid foundation to work on, supported them through the season, kept them healthy and solid and strong.

Zhenya had never really appreciated Sidney Crosby the Nutritionist before, had just seen Sid as a pain in the ass who never wanted Zhenya to have fun. But hearing about what might have been, what Sid had  _lost_ , he had more understanding to why Sid always took his job so seriously.

And now it’s been two months. Two months of tentative flirting, soft smiles, and stolen moments after practice before anyone realised Zhenya was lagging behind. He’d never been involved in such a slow courtship before; he’d always had little trouble persuading hookups into his bed, and even his longer relationships had culminated in sex- or even just a date- within a week. But Sid took time. Sid was shy, and solemn and serious and Zhenya knew that his usual charming approach wouldn’t work on him. They’d known each other for too long as colleagues for it to work. Zhenya had to convince Sid that he was worth it. And it was really fucking hard.

And Zhenya was also really. fucking. hard.

To make matters worse, Patrick’s uploads were getting more and more blatantly sexual. Gone are the mostly subtle and teasing clips of his sexual fantasy slowly and methodically making his way through mundane foods. Instead came things like sticky flaky baklava- Patrick’s clever tongue chasing sticky syrup from between fingers, and stuffing each deep into his hot, wet, pink mouth in a slow and suggestive suck, flecks of pastry sticking to his lips and tumbling down his chest. An ice cream sandwich that melted as Patrick devoured it morsel by morsel; more ending up pooling on his hands and down strong forearms than in his mouth, his tongue slipping out to try and catch smudges of sweet cream from the side of his lips.

This evening was hell in the form of juicy ripe peaches. They were on a Canadian roadie and Zhenya had declined invitations from the guys to head to a local bar for victory drinks after the Leafs game, instead sequestering himself in his room with his laptop and good headphones.

Patrick was methodically consuming the first fruit in firm, precise, bites- Zhenya was struck with the image of those pearly teeth catching on the soft skin of his shoulder, ribs, hips and thighs, leaving deep dark bruises on him that would last for days and days - and as he pulled the peach from sticky red lips, Zhenya could see the beginnings of rivers of juice trickling down his chin. The moan pulled from Patrick’s mouth throat was muffled by fingers that came up to swipe ineffectively along his lower lip, rubbing the juice around rather than actually collecting any. Zhenya finds himself helplessly mimicking the fingers across his own lip, tongue flicking out and catching the salty taste of his own skin and dreaming of tart-sweet summer peaches.

He shucks his shirt, eyes trained on Patrick as he continues to feed himself, and strokes gently along the long planes of his body.

Tonight he wanted to go slow.

So many times, watching Patrick’s videos was a rush of heat and pooling arousal, culminating in Zhenya being on the edge of desperate to get off within minutes, orgasm almost fighting against him.

His fingers are gently calloused from years of holding a hockey stick, and the pads catch roughly against the skin of his chest, stomach, pelvis. They pull against the trail of hair disappearing into his sweats, but slide back towards his pebbled nipples before he can be tempted into to shoving the hand roughly inside and grasping himself in desperate messy strokes.

Zhenya’s hips shift against the hotel bedding as he slides down into the pillows, on screen Patrick is halfway through the first of three peaches and his teeth are scraping against the golden flesh. He tweaks at his nipple lightly before scraping at it with blunt fingernails. His free hand settles on his thigh, squeezing gently and sliding slowly higher. Anticipation pools in his belly and he remembers why taking time can be so very good.

He loves fast and passionate and enthusiastic.

The rush of endorphins, body racing to pleasure, mind trying to catch up as his body races ahead.

But the slow building fire he can feel now- the tingling shivers making their way from his curling toes to restless shoulders, curling around him like an over warm blanket- is a whole different path to pleasure.

Patrick moaned gutturally around a fleshy mouthful and Zhenya echoes him unwittingly, before stuffing his knuckle against his lips. He doesn’t know who’s back in their rooms right now, and if anyone hears him it could lead to anything from them attempting to barge in on him, to endless chirping for the next month.

He kicks his pants off and slowly teases off his boxer briefs, dragging the waistband elastic along his hard cock, feeling the way it caught against the head, the chill of the hotel room air against his overheated skin feeling almost overwhelming. When his underwear is finally flung to the floor across the room, his stiff and leaking cock resting curved against his belly, Zhenya buries his fingers into the dark thatch of hair above it. His knuckles graze the wet head and he feels his legs fall open, startlingly tan against the blinding white of the hotel sheets.

He still avoids the temptation to stroke himself, instead pressing fingers into his pelvic bone, and forces himself to watch as Patrick sucks the remnants of peach flesh from the pit of the second fruit. Zhenya bites at chapped lips and presses harder into his belly, second hand just barely grazing it’s way up the skin inside of his thigh. He can feel the muscle twitch and strain for attention, both over and under stimulated by his ministrations.

Patrick sighs against soft peach fuzz and Zhenya finally- finally finally finally- takes himself in hand, making a long, slow stroke from base to tip to base, squeezing hard to stop himself from coming right then and there. He thumbs the thick vein along the underside of his cock and begins a series of more long, slow, dry strokes- the friction harsh and dragging. His free hand slithers back up to his nipple, feeling teased and left out, and pinches down hard.

Patrick traces a thick finger down the underside of his throat. Zhenya traces the loose skin under the flared head of his throbbing cock. He can’t think properly anymore, so much blood has left his head for his groin. It’s all he can do to keep his strokes smooth and even.

Patrick licks a long stripe from forearm to fingertip, following a long rivulet of spilled peach juice.

Zhenya strokes up to rub his palm against the tender head of his erection.

Patrick stuffs three sticky fingers into his puffy mouth and sucks wetly.

Zhenya lurches up from the pillows and comes in stripes across his bare chest


	5. Chapter 5

Zhenya is sure he’s in purgatory. Forced to stare at his personal heaven but never allowed to have it. Well, that’s kind of dramatic. But so is Sid’s  _ass_.

Zhenya thought he would be the one surprising Sid tonight, but _fuuuuck_ \- the suit he’s wearing has left Zhenya breathless and  _gagging_  for it.

He’d finally managed to convince Sid to let him take him out for dinner, and had proceeded to use his name left and right to make sure everything was perfect. He’d managed to snag some hard to come by reservations for a popular upscale farm-to-table restaurant, which offered organic and locally sourced ingredients prepared by some up and coming chef. It seemed like a good enough compromise between Zhenya and Sid’s tastes- Zhenya would still get to enjoy himself without making Sid feel like he was cheating on his food plan. The reservations were costing him a decent amount (and he’d promised the owner a signed jersey), but why be a multi-millionaire hockey player if you couldn’t flaunt your wealth occasionally?

The afternoon was crisp, the sun deceptive of the chill, and Zhenya had painstakingly paid attention to detail by taking his most flamboyant car to be cleaned, picking up what Sasha always called his ‘russian james bond’ suit from the dry cleaners, and even stopping for some flowers on his way home.

He’d parked his car in a visitor spot(and made the ‘i’m watching you’ gesture at two kids hanging out on the low wall in front of the neat apartment block), popped a breath mint, grabbed the bouquet and purposefully strode to Sid’s front door. Only to be awestruck by the sight of Sid wrapped in the most beautifully tailored pair of pants he’d ever seen the man wear.

“Hey, G. just a second.” Sid smiled distractedly, hands at his throat as he finished tying his tie (navy to match the navy blue wool of the jacket hanging beside the door). He was stood profile to Zhenya, and Zhenya felt his eyes sweep down the beautiful line of his back, to where Sid’s pants showcased the most perfectly  _round_  swell of ass Zhenya had ever seen.

This was not what he had expected. Sid didn’t dress like this. Sid owned suits that seemed to swallow him in fabric, two sizes too big, and much too long in the jacket. Sid wore baggy as fuck track suits, that everyone assumed hid a softer body, or bit of pudge around the middle. But this-. This was a masterpiece of tailoring. An ode to Sid’s ass.

“Are those for me?” Zhenya’s eyes snapped up to Sid’s face, taking in a shy smile causing a sweet little dimple to appear beside his mouth. Zhenya wanted to kiss it. He cleared his throat, mouth suddenly dry.

“Yes. for you” He holds them out, glad he went for some that looked both romantic but not too over the top. Long stemmed blue tulips. “Know is cliche, but think you deserve.” The dimple deepens and Zhenya finds Sid in his space, leaning up to press a dry kiss to cheek as he takes the flowers from him. His eyes close in surprise and Sid’s cologne fills his space.

“Why are you so sweet? I didn’t think you’d be so sweet.” Zhenya must zone out a little bit there, because when he opens his eyes, Sid’s warmth is gone, and so are the flowers. Sid himself is pulling on the jacket, and Zhenya can’t help himself to step forward and run his hands across defined shoulders and down the sweet slope of his back under the guise of helping to smooth out the fabric settles against Sid’s body.

“Just for you, Sid.” Zhenya grins at him, putting gentle pressure at the base of Sid’s spine to encourage him out the door “You need more sweet things in your life. Don’t have enough dessert.”

Sid lets out a adorable honk of laughter- in no way pretty or sexy, just very earnestly Sid- and pushes at Zhenya’s shoulder.

“Shut up! I do eat dessert, I just keep it for cheat days.” He locks and shuts his front door and allows Zhenya to lead him to where the car is parked

“Mmhmm” Zhenya opens the passenger door for Sid and wiggles his eyebrows

“Some one’s going all out. If I didn’t know any better, i’d think you were trying to impress me.”

Zhenya grins and says nothing

 

* * *

 

Dinner is fantastic. 12 courses of farm fresh vegetables and in-house smoked and cured meats prepared by someone who clearly loved food and wanted to share the best qualities of each ingredient. Zhenya is warm with a full belly and maybe just a little wine, and he can’t stop smiling across the table at the way Sid’s cheeks are flushed pink.

Their legs are tangled under the table, Zhenya’s calf warm where it’s held between Sid’s, and he hasn’t been able to stop himself from stroking at Sid’s fingers where they rest on the stark white tablecloth between every course- not that Sid seems to mind. It didn’t feel like their first proper date (because the sponsor event  _didn’t_  count as a real date). It felt comfortable and easy in a way Zhenya’s relationships have never been. But there is still that thread of first date anticipation in the air between them that Zhenya remembers, that makes every second of their night seem more electric.

Zhenya thinks he’s falling in love. Sid is funny and kind and sincere. He loves hockey. He  **loves**  kids (he’d had multiple albums on his phone to show Zhenya of his college friends children, and had gushed sweetly about them through two course while Zhenya smiled fondly at him). And best of all, Sid makes the most delicious noises as he eats.

He hadn’t been lying when he had told Zhenya that he did enjoy food, he was just very selective about what he ate. And sitting across from him, Zhenya finds himself turned on to the point of distraction by the way Sid savours and enjoys every bite offered. The way he bites at his lip with slightly too big teeth to hold in moans and groans. The way his eyes flutter closed after a particularly good mouthful.

Sid was beautiful, and ticked every single one of Zhenya’s boxes (including his newly discovered ones), and now he really wanted to see what he looked like spread out on his bedsheets, begging for Zhenya to let him come. Squirming and flushed and sex sweaty and all Zhenya’s to enjoy.

And now dinner was over, the bill payed and owner given his (bribe) jersey and the chef showered in compliments by Sid as Zhenya smiled on fondly. The ride back to Sid’s was spent in comfortable silence, and after a few minutes, stopped at a red light, Sid hesitantly reached across the gearshift to hold Zhenya’s hand where it rested on his thigh. When Zhenya looked across the cabin at him, Sid was staring at the street outside the passenger window, a hint of a smile at the corner of his lip visible. Zhenya squeezed gently and tangled their fingers together.

“Do you want to come in?” Sid bit his lip as he glanced up at Zhenya under his lashes, fishing his keys from his jacket pocket.

“You want me to come in?” Zhenya really wanted to follow him inside and press him against the nearest flat surface, but this was Sid, and he didn’t want to rush him in case it ended badly.

“Yes. Yeah.” Sid cleared his throat, and fiddled with his keys and the lock. “I really, really want you to come in, Geno.”

“Zhenya, call me Zhenya.” Zhenya’s heart felt like it was beating in his throat.

Sid smile back at him widely, pushing the door open and stepping aside.

“Okay, Zhenya. I want you to come inside with me.”


	6. Chapter 6

“ _Patrick?_ ”

Zhenya is frozen in the doorway to Sid’s living room as he stares at the all too familiar couch, and the wooden table sitting against the far wall.

A strangled noise comes from behind him and he turns to see Sid staring at him in absolute horror, eyes wide and skin looks like it’s trying to turn both white and red. It seems like hours pass as they stare at each other, but really it can only be a minute at most.

“You-….. Sid-…. Patrick?” Zhenya finally manages to get out.

“Fuck. Fuck. Shit. Oh God.” Sid buries his face in his hands and looks like he wants to be anywhere but right here. Zhenya understands the feeling. “Wait.” Sid looks up at him with questioning eyes.

“Sid?”

“You know? How do you know?” Sid’s eyes go impossibly wider “russia_best????? That’s… that’s you. Isn’t it? Oh fuck.”

“Yes. is me” Zhenya hesitates as he watches Sid slump against the wall in the entryway, face still covered in horror. He wants to reach out and console him, but really doesn’t know how the other man will accept it.

Sid, adorable, awkward Sid who is also hot, confident and sexy Patrick.

The two men of Zhenya’s fantasies- are the same man standing in front of him. Impossibly even more gorgeous now than he was as either persona separately. But what must he think of Zhenya? Knowing that Zhenya is a man who paid him- thousands - in the last year so that he could get off to videos of Sid eating. There was no way to think he’d purchased Sid’s services for anything innocent with the tone of all of the videos in his collection. And yet, despite how horrified he feels about somehow violating Sid in this situation-

“Want to feed Sid cheesecake while fucking.”

“What.” Zhenya starts and sees Sid frozen with wild eyes, before he realises he just said that  _out loud_. Fuck. why is he such a fucking pervert.

“I’m mean, want to date Sid! But Sid is so beautiful! And- am so sorry. Will go now, not bother Sid. promise.”

Sid’s brows furrow at Zhenya’s words.

“You… still want me?” Sid seems impossibly small at that moment and Zhenya just wants to gather him in his arms and shower him in kisses because this sid… just seems so precious and vulnerable. He takes a chance and steps into Sid’s space, cupping his cheeks gently and tipping his chin back so he has to look at Zhenya in the eye.

“Of course still want you. Want you more now.” Zhenya grins at Sid and brushes his thumb across his cheekbone. “Wan’ see you on knees for me. Get mouth on you. Eat you up.” he feels Sid shiver under his touch, body leaning in to Zhenya’s as if he can’t help himself. “Sid still want me?”

“God yes” and with that, Sid slides his fingers up to tangle in Zhenya’s hair and pull him down for a hot, rushed kiss.

 

* * *

 

Sid is spread wide, face pillowed on his arms and back arched deeply as he presents himself to Zhenya, lube resting on the covers beside him. Zhenya stands at the foot of the bed and lets himself have a minute to take in the sight of this gorgeous man offering himself like a beautiful prize just for him. Zhenya wants to eat him out until his jaw locks up and sid’s cheeks are red and raw from rubbing against Zhenya’s shadow of facial hair.  

Zhenya reaches out with a surprisingly steady hand, and lets his hockey-rough fingertips skim Sid’s thick and toned thighs. The muscles under the skin jump at the contact and Zhenya hears the startled huff of breath Sid lets out as a loud echo in the quiet bedroom.

“Is okay?”

“Yes. okay. So okay. Please-.” Sid’s head tips forward and he shifts a little on his knees. “Please touch me?” It comes out at just above a whisper, as if Sid is embarrassed to ask it. Zhenya can actually see the way his cheeks and ears and shoulders begin to flush. So Zhenya kneels behind him on the mattress and grasps Sid’s ass in both hands. His fingers are spread wide to try and contain it all, but despite how long they are, there is just too much of it. He kneads it lightly, trying to warm the skin where the room has left it cool and pebbled with goosebumps. Sid’s back arches deeper and he presses back into Zhenya’s touch, so Zhenya massages with more pressure, thumbs skirting along Sid’s crack.

His wide palms follow a path down to Sid’s thighs, giving their powerful muscled bulk an appreciative squeeze, before pulling back to trail fingertips back up along the sensitive insides, causing Sid to shiver and whine. He cradles Sid’s balls, heavy and warm, and gently rolls them in his palm a few times before getting back to his ass. His fucking gorgeous ass. Bigger than any hockey ass Zhenya has ever seen and ten times more beautiful.

Pulling apart Sid’s cheeks, he nuzzles at the inner skin of the left cheek and breathes in the muskiness of Sid’s hole. He presses wet kisses right down the skin of the crease from tailbone to perineum chuckling to himself at the way Sid shifts back against his mouth with a neediness Zhenya hadn’t seen in the trainer before. Wetting his lips, Zhenya takes the plunge and licks a long, wet, flat stripe back up and over Sid’s twitching hole, getting a low, throaty moan from where Sid is burying his face into plump pillows. He figures that means this has Sid’s approval.

Zhenya keeps it wet and sloppy and enthusiastic. Tongue lathing Sid’s hole with flat short strokes, sucking lightly at his rim occasionally to break up the rhythm. When he thinks Sid’s hole is loose and wet enough, he starts toying at it with one large thumb, catching the rim with a rough pad before pushing in and watching as it seems to almost pull the digit deeper inside, until he’s taken it up to the first knuckle. Sid is whimpering into the pillows, his upper body collapsed to the mattress under the sensation of Zhenya eating him out. Zhenya presses soothing messy kisses against the meat of his ass and rubs his stubbled cheek against flushed and sensitive skin.

“Zhenya…” Sid’s voice is soft and thin- straining for a shaky semblance of control.

“Mm?” Zhenya returns to messily kissing Sid’s ass, arm reaching around Sid’s hip to take his hard and leaking cock in hand, giving it a couple of gentle strokes, to make sure it wasn’t feeling left out.

“Zhenya…. Fuck me…. Please. Please. Please.” Sid’s begging now, and sounds almost on the verge of tears.

“You want me?” He finally reaches for the lube that had been sitting next to Sid patiently on the mattress, uncapping it and squeezing out a generous amount.

“Please. Yes.” Sid struggles to push himself up onto his elbows so that he can look back at Zhenya over his flushed shoulder. “Want you.”

Eyes locked with Sid’s, Zhenya brings his lubed fingers up to toy with Sid’s hole teasingly. Sid’s eyes close and he bites at his plush lips, a small crease of concentration forms between his brows. He pushes back against Zhenya’s fingers, greedy hole fluttering against the pressure, trying to pull him inside. He could tease, could draw this out and work Sid into a frantic, frenzied, mess- just writhing on the sheets, crying and begging for Zhenya to fuck him over and over again. But Zhenya doesn’t want that. Not this time. Maybe later he’ll take the time to work Sid over properly, but right now he’s held himself back for too long.

He works his first finger in with ease, and watches the way the breath almost punches out of Sid in response, but it isn’t too long before Sid is whining for more. Zhenya takes his time, working Sid to a mess on the sheets again as he opens his hole up to three fingers- enough to take Zhenya, but not to take away to stretch he’ll feel from Zhenya’s not inconsiderable girth. Zhenya wants Sid to feel it.

“Like this?” he rubs soothing palms over Sid’s hips and knee walks further into the space between his splayed legs.

“Yeah, like this.” Sid’s chewing on his lip, not even looking at Zhenya anymore with the way he’s gazing almost unfocused at the wall. He looks a mess, and Zhenya wonders if he’ll look even better when he’s been fucked wide open and loose.

The first slide in is slow and hot and tight and made even better by the small gasping breaths Sid draws in. Zhenya can feel the way his muscles flutters around him as he accustoms himself to the girth of Zhenya’s cock. His hands smooth themselves up Sid’s thighs and ass to grip at his hips, pulling Sid back into the cradle of his hips, bottoming out in an unexpectedly harsh movement.

“So good, Sid. So good like this.” Zhenya’s hands pet clumsily at Sid’s hips as Sid whines needily. He draws out again and start a series of strokes as smooth and steady as he is capable of. Sid takes him beautifully, and Zhenya finds himself mesmerized by watching the stretch of his hole as he thrusts into him. His knees feel weak from the sensation, and he wants to drive into Sid recklessly, chasing his pleasure. Zhenya’s palms slide up to wrap around Sid’s broad chest, appreciating the definition of muscle and the smoothness of his skin. He pulls Sid up to his knees, sweat slicked back resting along Zhenya’s front. Sid’s head slumps back onto Zhenya’s shoulder, and he catches pretty red lips in a sloppy kiss.

He guides Sid into riding him, not enough leverage or energy between them to make the strokes very long, but the grinding depth of them making up for lack of movement. Sid is still making tiny gasping noises, sounding very much like when he ate that entire cheesecake in Zhenya’s jersey- so full, but greedily wanting more and more- wanting to be stuffed to bursting. It drives Zhenya’s hips into a punishing rhythm, and he can see Sid’s hands move; one to grip at Zhenya’s on his chest, the other sliding down to grasp at his achingly hard member where jutted out, red and dripping with precome.

It doesn’t take Sid more than a handful of strokes before he’s coming, and Zhenya can feel it as his orgasms takes hold- his passage spasming around Zhenya as he slumps forward against his grip. Zhenya is quick to follow, grinding a last long thrust inside of Sid, before he can feel his come spurting out, painting Sid’s insides with come. The last of the strength in his knees gives out, and he feels them both falling forward against the mattress, panting for breath, and twitching from great orgasms.

Zhenya can hardly move, his body doesn’t feel like anything works properly anymore, but he finds enough in him to press sloppy kisses to wherever he can reach along Sid’s back and shoulders.

 

* * *

 

When he feels like he has enough energy in his bones again to move, Zhenya peels himself off of Sid’s back, sweat leaving them both sticky-tacky. Sid’s collapsed forward in a way that must be uncomfortable; knees tucked under his abdomen, head mashed into a pillow in a way that must be interfering with his ability to breath, and twitching where they were clutching at the sheets. They’re still connected, Zhenya softening still inside Sid’s puffy red hole, and he can’t help himself but to touch.

Both of them jump at the bush of his thumb at Sid’s rim, Zhenya hissing at how sensitive he is post orgasm. He thinks sid may too, but it’s hard to tell with his face hidden. He tugs at Sid’s cheeks and pulls out slowly, watching as his length slips free, followed by a thin trail of come and lube. He thumbs the swollen rim again, easily slipping inside with how open Sid still was. Sid can’t seem to decide if he wants this or not- shoulders squirming in discomfort, but back arching to push his ass back up in the air again. His thighs are trembling again, must be burning from all the work they’ve had to do.

His thumb sinks down to the first knuckle, and fuck, Sid is so sloppy with come. All warm and wet and slick.

“Zhenya…” Sid’s watching him, finally freeing himself of the pillow, eyes dark and mostly hidden by sooty lashes.

“Is okay?” Zhenya keeps his gaze as he slowly withdraws the thumb, feeling Sid’s tired muscles fluttering around him.

“Ngh.” Sid’s eyelashes flutter and his mouth goes slack “yes-. Please.”

Zhenya presses his lips to the dips at the base of sid’s spine, beautifully framing his gorgeous ass. His mouth is gentle this time, unlike it had been when he’d rimmed Sid, when he’d latched his mouth to sid’s shoulder as he fucked him into the mattress. He murmurs praise to Sid as he kisses his way gently down the crease of his ass to his hole. Zhenya’s thumb tugs at the rim again, and he shoves his tongue in beside it, as deep as he can get. Sid squeaks weakly in surprise, but relaxes as Zhenya’s free hand pets at his thigh.

Unlike before, Sid tastes like lube and come on Zhenya’s tongue. He’s so much wetter than Zhenya’s spit had gotten him, and Zhenya likes knowing that he’s to one who got him like this, that he’s tasting himself bitter on Sid’s skin. He pulls the thumb completely free and uses both hands to pull Sid’s cheeks as far apart as he can. Zhenya teases at his rim before he gets to work sucking and licking and digging his come out of Sid’s ass; cleaning him out thoroughly with his mouth. Sid is helplessly mewling into the pillows again and Zhenya can feel him trying to help in the way the muscles unders his fingers and mouth clench and relax in a stuttering rhythm.

Zhenya has a mouthful of his own come and spit and lube, some dribbling down his chin from the messy process, when he feels sid trying to sit up and pull away from him. He sit back on his haunches, only to be met by a messy lapful of Sid, staring breathlessly at his mouth with blown pupils. Before Zhenya can find somewhere to spit out his mouthful (because as hot as eating Sid out again was, come and lube isn’t necessarily a great taste) Sid’s attacking his lips with sloppy open mouthed kisses. Sid’s straddling him, arms thrown over his shoulders loosely, and his tongue is licking into Zhenya’s mouth to get a taste of Zhenya’s come for himself. It’s so fucking sloppy and wet, and come and spit are being pushed between them so messily that Zhenya can feel the trail on his chin spreading down his neck.

Sid pulls back, and Zhenya has honestly never seen anything hotter. He’s flushed all over, hair curling in a wild mess, mouth soft and red and open and Zhenya can see the come coating his tongue as he pants for breath. Sid catches his eyes and grins, sliding his tongue from his mouth and letting Zhenya see the mess dripping down onto his chin.

“Look so good.” He pets at Sid’s cheek, eyes feeling heavy as Sid nuzzles into his warm palm. Zhenya can feel his spent cock give a twitch of interest, but fuck if he’ll be able to get it up enough to do what he wants any time soon. “Want to fuck your pretty lips, watch stretch over my cock,” His thumb traces said lips, admiring the slick and swollen redness of them, from both Zhenya’s kisses and the way Sid couldn’t seem to stop himself from biting on them as Zhenya had fucked him “Paint you with my come, yes?”

Sid hums and presses into him, hips grinding down into Zhenya’s lap, arms tightening around Zhenya’s shoulders. Zhenya captures Sid’s lips again, and their tongues tangle together, messily swapping spit and come.

Zhenya hasn’t had sex this messy or this good before, but he thinks if Sid wants him to stay around, they’ll be able to do better.


End file.
